


It Happened

by TwoBoys2Love



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Hurt!Sam Winchester, M/M, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform, protective!Dean, smpc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: Sam kissed his brother when he was too young to understand what it mean. At least, that's what Dean chose to believe. Life complicates things... and Dean finds himself needing to give his brother what he wants.





	It Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMPC on Livejournal :D

When Dean was 18, Sam had kissed him. His little brother had leaned across the couch while they were watching a rerun of “Jaws” and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It was  _almost_  innocent, except for the way his eyes had lingered on Dean’s a little too long.  
  
From that moment on, Dean had made a point of keeping his distance from his little brother. He hated it. He  _hated_  the way that Sam looked wounded when Dean had moved away or sat on the armchair instead of the couch. Dean hated it but he knew it was the right thing to do.  
  
When Sam left for Stanford, it was almost a relief. Dean didn’t have to be on his guard all the time. He didn’t have to worry about the way Sam would stare out the window when Dean left on a hunt with their Dad. He didn’t have to worry that Sam would end up with a fucked up mess of a life.  
  
When that fucked up mess of a life happened anyway, Dean was there to try and hold the torn pieces of his brother together. It turned out Dean wasn’t very good at piecing Sam back together. Maybe, it had been too long. Maybe, Sam had changed.  
  
Sam kept saying he didn’t want to hunt. He kept saying he would leave, have a normal life. Every time a door opened there seemed to be a reason for Sam to stay with his brother.  
  
Really? Dean should have done what was right and made Sam go back to the life he’d been making for himself. But, he couldn’t.  
  
The Impala felt like home again with Sam riding shotgun. Motel rooms didn’t seem as run down or lonely when Sam was lying in the second bed. Hunting felt  _right_  when Sam had Dean’s back.  
  
And, so, Sam didn’t quit hunting and Dean didn’t make him.  
  
At twenty-five, Sam still looked wounded but it wasn’t because of Dean. It was everything else. Dean wasn’t sure how to help his little brother and that made him feel like a failure. It should be  _him_  who could put a smile back on his little brother’s face.  _Take care of your little brother, Dean._  That was supposed to be what Dean Winchester did.  
  
But, he couldn’t seem to work out the solution to the puzzle.  
  
Dean had lost track of how many hunts they’d done. The Butcher's Bill was long and varied. Vampires, Ghouls, hauntings, cursed objects and demons. Sam was always there, at Dean’s side.  
  
The monster of the week was a Tunda. The way Sam had explained it, the thing was a Colombian shapeshifter. It took to the form of a loved-one and lured its victim into the bush. It was using people, feeding on their blood, killing them slowly.  
  
Fortunately, Sam had spent a lot of time at Bobby’s reading all the old books that lined the walls.  
  
Dean kicked the motel room door closed behind him and tossed his duffel on the floor. “Add tundra to the list of things that suck ass.”  
  
“Tunda,” Sam muttered as he sat down on the end of the bed furthest from the door. Dean didn’t even have to insist on that anymore.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nevermind.”  
  
Dean grinned and headed over to the mini fridge for a couple of beers. He tossed one to Sam before sinking down onto the end of the other bed. He levered the top off the bottle with his ring and gulped down a few mouthfuls. Nothing tasted better than a cold beer after a hunt.  
  
“Dean?” Sam’s voice wavered slightly.  
  
Instinct brought Dean to his feel instantly. When he looked down at Sam, adrenaline flushed his veins.  
  
The beer was on the bed beside Sam and he was so pale the veins on his cheeks were visible. “Sam?”  
  
“I didn’t think it was so bad,” Sam said weakly. He held up his hand and it was covered in dark, red, blood.  
  
The beer bottle Dean had been holding hit the old carpet with a dull thud. He took a knee in front of his brother and saw a black stain growing steadily on Sam’s t-shirt.  
  
“Fuck Sam. What happened?”  
  
“It got me with something. A branch, but it was. It was more like a dagger.”  
  
Dean scrambled to his feet and fetched a towel from the bathroom. He took a knee again, pulled Sam’s t-shirt up and pressed the towel to the wound.  
  
The slash in Sam’s stomach was about four inches long. It was deep enough that Dean didn’t like it,  _not_  at all.  
  
It needed to be cleaned and it was going to need a  _stupid_  amount of stitches to close it.  
  
Dean sighed. “You’re gonna need more than a beer.”  
  
-=-=-=-  
  
The Winchesters had been slashed, broken, burned, bitten and nearly strangled. Being stabbed by a shapeshifting tree vampire thing was nothing that Sam wouldn’t live through.  
  
Still, the entire thing pissed Dean off, and worse, worried him. Sam should have told him that he was hit. Dean had no idea why his brother had just sat on the bed leaking blood like a fucking sprinkler. It was scary how distant Sam seemed from his own body. And Dean didn’t like being scared.  
  
Sam drank whiskey until he passed out. Dean cleaned the cut the best he could then he stitched it up. By the time he was finished there was a pretty neat line on Sam’s belly and Dean was exhausted. He pried his boots off and poured himself a shot of whiskey.  
  
Dean reached over and gently pushed Sam’s sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. Sam’s breathing was a little shallow. Dean frowned and kicked his feet up onto his brother’s bed. Nothing would happen to Sam on his watch.  
  
The bed springs complained as Dean got comfortable beside his brother. He would just sit there for a while and keep a watchful eye on Sam.  
  
-=-=-=-  
  
The hotel room was  _way_  too hot. Sun was flooding in through the useless curtain and Dean didn’t want to open his eyes. It was too early and his eyes would burn right out of his head.  
  
When Dean tried to scratch his cheek, he realized that his arm was asleep. Squinting against the light, Dean peered down at his arm. What he found himself looking at was Sam’s tousled, brown hair.  _That_  explained the dead arm.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Jesus  _Christ_ , Sam.” Dean’s heart skipped all over the place when he heard his brother’s raspy voice. “Thought you were asleep.”  
  
“I’ve been awake for a while,” Sam said against his brother’s chest.  
  
Sam’s breath was warm on Dean’s skin,  _too_  pleasant. “Why didn’t you get up?”  
  
“Didn’t want to.”  
  
Dean tried to pull his arm free, but Sam was practically a dead weight. “I can’t feel my fingers.”  
  
Instead of rolling away, Sam shifted closer. He settled with his leg across both of Dean’s and shuffled his body further across Dean’s chest. Dean managed to bend his arm up but it flopped uselessly across Sam’s upper back. “This wasn’t what I had in mind, Sam.”  
  
Sam’s arm cinched tighter around Dean’s waist and he stayed right where he was. As the feeling began to come back into Dean’s arm, he could feel the solid heat of Sam’s broad shoulders. He could still remember a time when he could get his arm right around Sam. But, his brother had been a boy then, a lot younger then, not the man who was practically covering him.  
  
Dean shifted again. Sam’s cheek was hot and sweaty against Dean’s chest. Rough stubble brushed against Dean’s nipple sending little tingles running down his body. He stopped moving quickly. “Get off me, you’re heavy.”  
  
There were a few moments of silence before Sam took a deep breath. “No.”  
  
“Excuse me?” All that weight and heat on top of Dean was making him feel… things he didn’t want to feel.  
  
“Dean. This is the first time in years you’ve let me this close to you,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“We’re brothers, Sam. I didn’t know that cuddling was on your bucket list,” Dean said gruffly. But, he was lying. Well, mostly. He knew. He remembered. He remembered that scrawny, too-tall teen that had curled up next to him on the couch. Dean had just thought that Sam would have left it behind him.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why’d you push me away?”  
  
A knot of emotion crammed itself into Dean’s throat. He didn’t want to dredge up things they’d spent years ignoring. It should be all in their past and it should be left there. “It was a long time ago, Sammy. You’re healing, you’re tired. Stow it.”  
  
Turning his head slightly, Sam propped his chin on his brother's chest and stared into his eyes. “It’s because I kissed you.”  
  
Groaning, Dean shoved at Sam’s shoulder to get him to move away.  
  
“Fuck,” Sam hissed. He rolled off Dean and clutched at the makeshift bandage that was wrapped around his middle.  
  
“Jesus, sorry, Sam. I - I forgot.” Dean sat up and laid his hand over the wound. No blood had seeped through the bandage, so that was a good sign.  
  
Sam curled his fingers tight around Dean’s wrist. “You thought I was sick,” Sam said weakly.  
  
Eyes widening slightly, Dean kept his gaze locked on his brother’s. “What did you say?”  
  
“That’s why you got so distant. You thought I was sick. You think I’m sick now.”  
  
Dean shook his head slowly from side to side as he frowned. “No, Sam… no.”   
  
How the hell was Dean supposed to explain it? Sam had been young and innocent. He’d simply acted on something that felt… right. Dean would be a liar if he said he hadn’t felt it himself.   
  
It was a sort of pull that had always been there between them. It was more than brothers, it was different. It was heavy and sweet and it was always there when Sam was near. But his job was to take care of his little brother, not fuck him up.  
  
“Dean?” There was a pleading tone to Sam’s voice and it was like a punch in the gut. He reached down and smoothed Sam’s hair back off his furrowed brow.  
  
Then Sam turned into Dean’s touch. His fiery lips brushed across the sensitive skin on the underside of Dean's wrist.  
  
A shock shot up Dean’s arm and it took all of his willpower not to yank his arm away.  
  
With his eyes still locked on Dean’s, Sam leaned in again and pressed a soft kiss to the map of Dean’s veins. His tongue inched forward and traced a line along Dean’s tendons.  
  
“Sam,” Dean warned. But it was like being numb all over again. There was too much going on inside Dean’s body for him to figure out how to move.  
  
Teeth dragged over Dean’s skin and he shivered and slid his hand gently off the bandage until he could curl it over Sam’s hip.  
  
“Dean, this is okay. I can see it in your eyes.” Each word made Sam’s lips brush against Dean’s skin and heat began to unfurl in his belly.  
  
Hoping that he could somehow keep Sam from seeing anything, Dean squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
He heard Sam shift, felt the mattress move and then Sam’s lips branded their touch on his chest.  
  
Dean’s back arched, his breaths tripped over themselves and he lifted a shaky hand to rest on the back of his brother’s skull.  
  
It was enough encouragement. Sam’s lips parted and he left a trail of kisses across Dean’s chest, up the center of his throat then withdrew slightly. They sat there for a while, looking at each other.  
  
Dean couldn’t tell who moved next, but it didn’t matter. Sam’s mouth was rough and hard against Dean’s. At first, it was desperate, and a bit harsh, then the fight seemed to bleed out of it. Sam kissed Dean with long, sweet, passes of his lips. His tongue traced Dean’s mouth and his breath ghosted across Dean’s lips.  
  
The fight, all those years of resistance, faded away from Dean’s mind and his hands moved over his brother’s body. His fingers skipped over the bandage and he gentled his touch. He’d seen all of his brother’s body over the years they’d been together. Touching it was with intention was new, it was different. Dean couldn’t help the way he slowed his movements. All the hunting scars bumped under Dean’s fingers. The braille map of his time with his brother, and all the things they’d faced.  
  
Sam captured Dean’s mouth again, hands settling on Dean’s shoulders. “Dean.”  
  
Dean pressed his hand to Sam’s chest and took a moment to catch his breath.  _Holy shit_.  
  
“Dean?” This time there was a tremble in Sam’s voice. It was a hundred questions in one word. It was in that moment that Dean realized exactly what Sam had carried with him for all those years.  
  
“We’re good,” Dean said quietly as he ran his thumb over the height of Sam’s cheek.  
  
Relief wiped the fear off of Sam’s face and he nodded once as he sighed. For once, it seemed like Sam actually didn’t have anything to say.  
  
Dean couldn’t help smiling.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re quiet.”  
  
“Fuck off.” But, Sam’s bottom lip was caught under his top teeth and he was trying not to smile.  
  
“Lie down. I put a lot of effort into those stitches. Didn't want you lookin’ like Frankenstein.”  
  
“He was the Doctor, not the monster,” Sam said as he smirked.  
  
“There’s the Sam I know and love.” Heat swept down Dean’s neck and chest when he came face to face with just how much he  _meant_  that.  
  
As Sam lay down on his back, Dean took in his brother’s muscular chest. He reached out and trailed his finger across the dusting of hair on Sam’s abs. All Sam’s muscles worked under his skin and he bit back a moan.   
  
Of course, Sam would feel the  _fuck_  out of every sensation. That was just the way he was. He’d always been the brother who felt the most, cared the most, maybe he’d even been the one who’d lost the most.  
  
With his eyes locked on Sam’s, Dean flipped his brother’s belt buckle open, unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down.  
  
Sam’s lashes fluttered and his hips rose up off the bed slightly. His hands dug into the sheets that were bunched up under him.  
  
Dean’s fingers slid into his brother’s open jeans and his heart felt like it quivered in his chest. The line of Sam’s cock under his boxers was huge and the heat of it was crazy good. Tilting his head slightly, Dean pressed his hand down and rubbed the length of his brother’s hard-on.  
  
It was like Sam’s entire body rippled at the touch. His back curved up off the mattress, his stomach muscles tightened and his lips parted.  
  
The way Dean’s heart was pounding, he felt like he was taking years off his life just to be in that moment. But, he didn’t care; he’d give up as many years as he had left to feel the way he did. It was because of him that Sam’s skin was flushed, his dark pink nipples were hard peaks, sweat was glistening on his throat. It was all because of him and that was something Dean would spend the rest of his life trying to give his brother.  
  
Dean cupped Sam’s cloth covered cock with one hand and reached up with the other to get a grip on Sam’s hair. He sucked in a breath of  _Sam_  then leaned in to trace the cupid’s bow on Sam’s upper lip with the tip of his tongue.  
  
The sweetest moan oozed out of Sam and it was like a whip crack to Dean’s spine. Heat raced down his body and somewhere in his mind, he realized how much trouble he was in. He’d always struggled to say no to Sam - no matter what he asked for. It could have been that way all along, maybe Dean just hadn’t wanted to admit it.  
  
“Dean, do something,” Sam said in a gruff voice. He grasped at his brother’s shoulders, nails digging crescent shaped grooves into Dean’s flesh.  
  
Moving slowly, Dean released his hold on Sam’s hair then trailed his fingers down his brother’s cheek, over his lips and down the center of his chest.  
  
Sam’s hips twisted like he couldn’t stay still and Dean moved back until he could hook his fingers over the waistband of Sam’s boxers. He swallowed, throat tight with want as he watched the swollen flesh of his brother’s cock appear.  
  
His hand curled over all that hard flesh again and Dean licked his lips.  
  
Sam’s body jolted, his eyes closed and he gasped for air like he couldn’t breathe.  
  
Dean circled his brother’s length and slid his hand up slowly. He dug the fingers of his other hand into the meat of Sam’s thigh. He knew his grip was too tight, he’d bruise his brother’s flesh, but even if that felt good.  
  
“ _Jesus Christ,_  Dean.” Sam’s voice was rough and low. There was a whiskey burr to it, the sound strung out and desperate.  
  
It felt like Dean’s balls would explode where they were trapped in his jeans. Every sound Sam made, each stutter of a breath, left a mark on Dean’s soul. It was all new but it seemed like Dean had been there a thousand times; Sam’s flesh so familiar under his touch.  
  
Settling down between Sam’s legs, Dean let out a breath of air against Sam’s cock. He watched as the swollen flesh twitched, resting heavy against Sam’s belly. Hips rocking slowly, Sam reached down and grabbed a handful of his brother’s hair. It was easy to realize what Sam wanted; Dean had no problem following his brother’s lead.  
  
Sliding his tongue out, Dean let it linger at the head of his brother’s shaft. Precome was leaking from the head and Dean lapped it away from the sensitive flesh. The taste of Sam was unexpected, strange, salty and a little bitter, but Dean loved it. There was nothing he could do that was more intimate; nothing that would give Sam a better idea of the lengths Dean would go to. It had only taken a few moments for Dean to realize what was happening, and what was at stake.  _Sam._  His Sam.  
  
Sam’s breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling too fast. The sweat on his body glistening as the scent of it made it to Dean’s nose.  
  
“Dean?” There was a question in Sam’s voice, a slight waver that only Dean would notice.  
  
So, Dean gave his answer. He parted his lips and he sank down onto his brother’s cock.   
  
Sam’s body shook, the muscles in his thighs trembling as they tightened and he let out a shout that made Dean’s skin prickle. He sucked on his brother’s turgid flesh, the taste of it bled into Dean’s mouth and he could feel his body tense as an undercurrent of need ran through it. He knew it now, it was familiar, but something that he’s always written off as wrong, a mistake, a misfire. Now that his mouth was full of Sam’s burning flesh, the feel of precome sliding down his throat, Dean knew it had always been a craving and it had burned in the pit of his stomach for years.  
  
When Dean sucked hard on Sam’s cock, he had to catch his brother’s hips to keep him pressed down onto the bed. He’d  _never_  had a cock in his mouth before. He’d thought about it but never followed through. He was glad because he never wanted to give it up to anyone else; he already knew that.  
  
Sam’s flesh was heavy on Dean’s tongue, burning its way into the top of his throat. He sucked and pressed his tongue to the underside of it, feeling the ridges and veins and the velvet softness of it. His nails lodged in the meat of Sam’s thighs to control the wanton thrust of his little brother’s hips. Dean choked, gagged a little and could feel tears welling in his eyes. But, the flavor of Sam was intoxicating, rich and heady.  
  
Sam’s hand glanced off his brother’s forehead then found its way to his hair. He held onto the short strands so tightly that Dean’s scalp ached.  
  
Exploring with his tongue, Dean lapped and sucked, felt the slit at the fiery head of his brother’s cock. He tasted a new burst of precome and felt his brother’s body shift again.   
  
“Oh God,” Sam said in a quiet groan. His voice was drawn too thin, as though he couldn’t get enough air. His hold on Dean’s hair gentled and his fingers slid down to caress the apple of Dean’s cheek.  
  
The intimacy of it, the sweetness of the touch made heat blossom on Dean’s face and his next breath was a little hard to take in. Struggling to keep himself together, Dean began a steady slide down, then up his brother’s cock. He couldn’t take all of the beast in, and each time it bumped against the back of his throat, Dean could feel tears burn his eyes. He fought off the urge to gag, hell, it was Sam. The way his brother’s flesh felt so heavy on his tongue, made Dean’s blood boil.  
  
Thrusting his hips up off the bed, Sam grunted softly, his head was rolling back and forth on the pillow and his abs were tightening next to the bright, white bandage.  
  
Gasping for air when he could get it, Dean continued to slide the tight circle of his lips along his brother’s cock. He worked the hard flesh with his tongue, licking and pressing against the veins and ridges of flesh. Sam tasted perfect.  
  
“Dean,” Sam murmured. The name came out like a wish or a prayer and Dean could feel his balls tighten. He really should have rethought being dressed because his cock ached so badly he wasn’t sure it would ever feel right again.   
  
Closing his eyes, Dean sucked long and hard on his brother’s shaft. He flicked the tip of his tongue over the smooth head and felt Sam’s body lurch up off the mattress again. Sam’s trembling hand landed on Dean’s shoulder, and held on tightly as his hips snapped up off the bed. His cock nudged against the back of Dean’s throat and then he came.  
  
The hot flesh that filled Dean’s mouth throbbed and bursts of come landed against the back of his throat. He swallowed his brother’s slickness and a swollen tide of heat washed over him. Entire body trembling, Dean’s twitched his hips forward, pressing his trapped cock against the mattress. He came hard as Sam’s body was still quivering beneath him, cock sliding free of Dean’s slack mouth.  
  
Shuddering through his pleasure, Dean moaned as he rolled to the side. He clawed his way up the mattress frantically, needing to be at his brother’s side; needing to know that everything was real and not some twisted fantasy.   
  
There was a dazed look on Sam’s face. His cheeks were ruddy, his lips swollen and bitten, and his eyes were almost black. He curled a long, muscular arm around Dean’s neck and pulled him in to savage his mouth once more.  
  
The kiss hurt and made Dean’s cock twitch weakly. Sam crushed his mouth against Dean’s, branding his permission, his want, his relief and every other emotion onto Dean’s lips. Every single, bruising slide of Sam’s mouth on his own left Dean feeling like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.  
  
Finally, panting, flushed and looking more than a little exhausted, Sam fell back against the bed. He laughed softly, fingers finding their way to Dean’s so they could tangle together.  
  
“Sam, I-”  
  
“Dean, if you say one word that sounds remotely like an apology or an explanation, I will  _punch_  you. I will punch you in the jaw and you hate that.”   
  
Their eyes met and Dean fought the urge to smile. He forced a frown on to his face, the typical my-little-brother-sucks frown but knew that Sam would see through it. “I’m hungry.”  
  
Laughing again, Sam stretched his arms high up above his head. “I could eat.”  
  
Dean stared at his brother. He tilted his head slightly and watched as Sam closed his eyes for a few moments. He could have this. He could have Sam. He could do it.  
  
Reaching out, Dean slid his free hand past the bandage on Sam’s chest. He was sure he could feel the thump of Sam’s heartbeat. That sound was his home.


End file.
